tonight i'll say things (like shut up and kiss me)
by AndKatnissRaisedHerBow
Summary: Prompt: "Oliver asks Felicity to kiss him. Just that. Not in a mission, or because they have to. I want him to ask her to kiss him just because."


**Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow, or any of the characters affliated. I'm just borrowing them. **

**Title taken from Ariana Grande's **_**"Better Left Unsaid"**_

**Prompt:**_** "Oliver asks Felicity to kiss him. Just that. Not in a mission, or because they have to. I want him to ask her to kiss him just because." **_**–Anonymous, through the Olicity Prompt blog. **

It had been weeks since Felicity last made an appearance at the Foundry this late at night. She'd been trying to keep her distance lately; let thoughts and activities into her life that didn't revolve around being the faithful tech support for the Starling City vigilante.

Her job, the one that she was paid to do, sucked up most of her time. The work she did at Queen Consolidated now was challenging, in a completely different way than how tracking down hired killers and illegally hacking through secure government firewalls was challenging. Ray was not easy on her with the projects he handed her, but Felicity liked that. Her responsibilities as Oliver's EA were never easy, per say, but this, putting together the pieces of puzzles that had previously been declared impossible, this was what she enjoyed. It was better than anything she'd had in the old IT department, though she would've taken up the position there in a second if it meant she had some way to fill her time that wasn't wrapped in green leather.

The office was a nice touch, a very deliberate gesture from Ray and it felt good to be treated with importance after all the sneers and snide remarks that chased her down the hallways when she had to retrieve a file for Oliver. It was kind of Ray to give her the corner office, but for reasons she could never tell him, being in the room made it difficult to focus.

It was only a room; four walls and a roof, even the furniture had been replaced. There was nothing that was even all that special about it, but the memories of the past year spent inside it still lingered. Felicity constantly caught herself looking up and expecting to see Oliver on the other side of the glass. She still froze sometimes when she walked past the spot where The Count had held her captive; uninvited hands playing in her ponytail, rough grip shoving her across the room, needle poised at her neck, the sound of three arrows flying past her and then glass shattering as The Count tumbled out of the window. The fear returned in those moments, latching onto her with a ferocity that made her knees threaten to cave under her. She would notice her assistant watching her with a concerned, curious look when she surfaced from her daze, heartbeat slowing down a little while she took stock of herself and surroundings.

When she passed Jerry's desk, she saw herself sitting in the chair, staring determinedly at her nails while Oliver explained that he couldn't be with someone he cared about. She remembered a whole different kind of hurt then, one that had made her stomach sink and tears prick at her eyes. The pain was just as unbearable as it had been that day, slamming into her chest and leaving her breathless if she let it. Jerry would arrive some days to find Felicity leaning against the glass barrier separating the two sides of the room, looking at the desk but seeing the exchange play out again and again. He never said anything to her when she startled upon realizing he was there, just sent her a small smile and busied himself when she made her way back to her desk.

The memories are everywhere. They're in the curtains; she feels Oliver's arms around her, grounding her even in midair when she's opening them every morning. They're in the coffee Jerry deposits on her desk at different times of the day, how he asked for her order every day when Oliver had always just _known._ They're in every corner and every crevice, not quite making themselves known but never going ignored.

When the day ends and she leaves QC, she's back at the Foundry. Back to the adrenaline that doesn't catch her off guard anymore and the desk that's always been hers. Back to the stifling silences and readjusting to the distance kept as she and Oliver struggled to find their footing in this new, uncharted territory. There's no denying that it doesn't hurt Felicity to see him edge around her when he had no qualms stepping into her space before, easily skimming a hand along her arm or back. She sees the way he looks at her like the sight of her in front of him hurts more than anything he's endured, the way he covers it up with the steely mask but she sees past it; she always has. She feels the pain he pushes away, bares it for him just like she has from the very beginning.

She tries not to think about when everything that was his became hers, tries not to dwell on pinpointing exactly when she learned to read him like he was her favorite book and she knew every word.

Limiting her time at the Foundry had proven beneficial, in a way. It did little to help separate her from the work they did and she was always on call if they needed her, but Felicity was getting more sleep and her Netflix queue was considerably shorter. She left just after Oliver returned from patrol every night, never able to break that particular habit, and was home in time to look over tomorrow's work and call for delivery before the Chinese restaurant a couple blocks over closed for the night.

Late nights at the Foundry weren't common for her anymore, so she was somewhat surprised to be woken up at three in the morning with a text asking her to be there.

Felicity didn't know what to expect when she opened the door, and what she found did nothing to quell her confusion. Roy was standing by the bay of computer screens, Diggle was seated in her chair and they were both looking at her like she was the relief soldier they'd been waiting for in the middle of a long war. Between them, on the medbay table, Oliver was slouched with his feet dangling over the edge. His side was bandaged high up on his ribcage, and he was staring at the floor, unfocused.

Before she could ask what was going on, Roy spoke up, "Good, you're here! He hasn't stopped asking for you for the past hour," he sounded exhausted and irritated, but relieved.

Her eyes flew to Diggle, begging some sort of explanation and the older man nodded at Oliver. "He got shot, we wrestled him into taking some meds for the pain and swelling. He's pretty out of it, been asking for you nonstop since he woke up."

She's across the floor and at his side before she can think twice about it.

Oliver's head raises once she's close, eyes lighting up as he appraised her and Felicity couldn't help thinking that for all the world, the expression on his face made him look like a little kid. He says her name like it's his saving grace, smile playing on his lips while his hand reaches out to rest on her arm. It defies the new normal they've created, where casual touches disappeared and the inches between them turned into miles, but the calloused fingers on her skin are familiar and maybe it's just the lack of sleep but Felicity can't bring herself to pull away. So she smiles back at him and turns back to Diggle.

"You guys head home, I've got him. It's been a long night, you should get some sleep," She adds, knowing they wouldn't want to unload on her, and leaving no room for argument. It's a leap that goes against every promise she's made to herself but if she's honest, she's always known that no matter what happened, she'd be by Oliver's side when he needed her.

Diggle and Roy put up the obligatory indignations. They make sure she knows where the meds are, how much to give Oliver should he ask, and then they're dragging their exhausted forms out the door.

When they're alone, Felicity turns to Oliver. He's watching her with that drowsy grin, eyes shining with an innocence she's never seen, like the weight on his shoulders has shifted for a moment and there's nothing holding him down. His hand is still wrapped around her arm, toying with the fabric of her old MIT hoodie and she places her own hand over his fingers.

"Come on, let's get you to bed."

It takes him a second longer to react than it would if not for the drugs slowing his mind, but Oliver lets out a huff of air that Felicity knows is supposed to be a laugh.

"Felicity Smoak, trying to get me into bed?" His words are slurred, her name tumbling from his lips in a way that doesn't sound quite right, though not as heavily as she had expected them to be. She remembers his near superhuman ability to fight the effects of narcotics and wonders just how much Diggle and Roy had given him.

Felicity hums, tugging on Oliver's arm to pull him to his feet. He leans most of his weight on her and by some miracle her legs don't give out underneath her. Slowly, with a lot of stumbling on both parts, they make their way to his mattress in a dark corner of the room. There's no bed frame, it's just lying on the floor like it was the day they brought it back to the foundry so it takes more effort that Felicity had anticipated to ease them both down onto the pillowed material and when they land gracelessly she has to steady him with a hand on his arm.

She doesn't move her hand once he's sitting up just fine on his own; she leaves it there because it feels nice, her fingers on the bare skin of his bicep, thumb coasting absently over the defined muscles that she's too familiar with the capabilities of. Oliver leans into her touch, staring at some nonexistent point on the opposite wall and Felicity thinks with a smile that this docile version of Oliver is a lot like a sedated tiger. So powerful, capable of taking her life in one swift motion if he wanted, but sitting in front of her completely disarmed and leaning closer to her body like a harmless kitten. She tries to suppress the fluttering in her chest when she realizes that _she_ was the only one he wanted to be around him in this state. That in his unfocused, hazy mind, hers was the name he called out for.

Her fingers have slid down to his forearm and his shoulder is pressing against hers when she comes back to reality.

Oliver is staring at her now, raking his eyes over her face with a concentration that seems almost desperate; like he's trying to memorize her before she vanishes from in front of him. Felicity's fingers instinctively tighten around his wrist, her own eyes straining to meet his.

His hand comes up to play in her hair, threading through the strands and watching the motion like it's the most fascinating thing he's ever seen. His fingers sift through it over and over, blonde tumbling over calloused fingers and it takes every ounce of her self-control to keep from leaning into his hand as her eyes slip shut, falling into a haze of almost-sleep where her mind stops wandering and stops racing and there's nothing but the simple comfort of Oliver's hands on her and the security his proximity offers.

"Kiss me,"

Felicity's eyes fly open, and he's staring at her. It was just a murmur, a barely-there whisper but she heard it. She breathes his name and it's a gasp and a sigh, an apology and an exasperation all in one. He's staring at his hand, letting it come to rest on her shoulder and her hair falls around it like a curtain. There's a look in his eyes that isn't foreign at all, the same one that makes an appearance every time she mentions her job or when they're talking and he reaches for her out of habit, only to stop halfway when he remembers they can't afford that luxury anymore.

She doesn't say anything else, and neither does he.

Oliver falls asleep a little while later, with Felicity standing a steady vigil by his side.

(When she's sure he's sound asleep for the night, she untangles her hand from his and presses a kiss to his forehead before she can talk herself out of it. When she's back home and in her own bed, her hoodie smells like Oliver and she's not surprised to find that she doesn't mind it.)


End file.
